Chapter 1
The first time I saw twelve-year-old Maya crying on my school bus, I thought she'd had a bad day.
The second time, I thought somebody at school was bullying her.
But the afternoon I watched her shove a silver packet of pills beneath her seat, I realized something much worse might be happening.
And the man waiting outside her house made me afraid to ask why.
My name is Arthur Williams.
I'm sixty-eight years old, and I've worked as a school bus monitor for almost eleven years.
Before that, I spent thirty-two years working in public transportation.
I've seen children laugh, fight, cry, and tell every kind of story imaginable.
But I've learned one thing.
Children who are hiding ordinary mischief usually look excited.
Children who are hiding fear look over their shoulders.
And Maya had been looking over her shoulder for three weeks.
That Friday afternoon, she sat alone near the back of the yellow bus.
Her long braids hung over her navy sweater vest.
Her white school blouse was wrinkled, and her plaid skirt was twisted beneath her knees.
She was crying.
Not loudly.
Just small, exhausted sobs she kept trying to swallow.
I watched her through the wide safety mirror.
"Maya, sweetheart, are you feeling okay?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"Yes, Mr. Arthur."
I didn't believe her.
But before I could ask another question, she reached into her school bag.
She pulled out something silver.
Then she suddenly shoved it beneath the seat.
I caught the movement.
"Maya, what did you just hide?"
She jerked upright.
"Nothing!"
Her voice was too loud.
Too frightened.
I started walking toward her.
"Maya, I'm not angry."
She dragged her school bag across the floor, covering the space beneath the seat.
"I didn't do anything."
The bus driver, Mrs. Coleman, called from the front.
"Arthur, we're approaching Maple Drive."
Maya's entire expression changed.
She looked through the window.
Then she went pale.
I followed her gaze.
Outside a neat suburban house stood a tall Black man wearing a brown work jacket.
Marcus.
Maya's father.
At least, that was how he'd introduced himself when she transferred to our route.
He stood beside the driveway with his arms folded.
He wasn't waving.
He wasn't smiling.
He was staring directly at the bus.
Maya began breathing faster.
"Please," she whispered.
I turned toward her.
"Please what, sweetheart?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Don't tell him anything."
My stomach tightened.
"Tell him what?"
She shook her head.
"Please, Mr. Arthur."
Before I could answer, the bus stopped.
Maya snatched up her bag.
She hurried past me without looking up.
"See you Monday," I said.
She didn't answer.
I watched her step onto the sidewalk.
Marcus approached immediately.
He said something I couldn't hear.
Maya nodded.
Then he took her school bag.
For one second, she looked back toward the bus.
Our eyes met.
The expression on her face made my blood run cold.
She looked like a child being taken somewhere she desperately didn't want to go.
Then Marcus put his hand on her shoulder.
They walked toward the house.
I watched until the front door closed.
Mrs. Coleman looked at me.
"Arthur?"
I turned.
"Give me a minute."
She nodded.
The other children had already been dropped off.
Maya was our final passenger.
I walked toward the back.
My knees complained as I crouched beside her seat.
I moved her forgotten pencil away from the floor.
Then I reached beneath the cushion.
My fingers touched something smooth and cold.
I pulled it out.
A silver blister pack.
Several tablets were missing.
I stared at it.
There was no box.
No pharmacy label.
No instructions.
Just a strip of pale tablets, with empty pockets where others had been pushed out.
My first thought was that Maya might be hiding medication she was supposed to take.
My second thought frightened me more.
What if someone had been giving her medicine she didn't understand?
I turned the pack over.
A small piece of white tape had been attached to the back.
Someone had written a name in blue ink.
EVELYN PARKER.
I frowned.
That wasn't Maya's name.
And I recognized it.
Evelyn Parker was a woman I'd known years earlier.
She'd worked as a school nurse before retiring.
But that couldn't be right.
Why would her name be on a packet hidden beneath a twelve-year-old girl's bus seat?
I took out my phone.
Mrs. Coleman called from the front.
"Did you find something?"
"Yes."
"What is it?"
"I'm not sure yet."
I dialed the school nurse.
She answered on the third ring.
"Riverside Middle School, Nurse Johnson speaking."
"Angela, it's Arthur Williams."
"Arthur? Is everything okay?"
I stared at the tablets.
"I found medication under a student's seat."
Her voice changed.
"Has anyone taken it?"
"I don't know."
"Don't handle the tablets directly. Keep the pack secure and bring it to the office."
I swallowed.
"Angela, there's something strange."
"What?"
"There's a handwritten name on the back."
"Whose?"
"Evelyn Parker."
Silence.
Then Angela whispered, "Arthur, are you certain?"
I looked again.
"Yes."
Her breathing changed.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
Angela hesitated.
Then she said, "Evelyn Parker died six months ago."
I froze.
I remembered hearing about the funeral.
Of course.
Evelyn had been a respected nurse.
Everyone loved her.
And she had died after a sudden illness.
I stared at the silver pack.
"Angela, I need you to contact the principal."
"What happened?"
I looked through the bus window toward Maya's house.
The front curtains had closed.
"Something is wrong with one of our students."
I was about to stand when something caught my attention.
Another object lay deeper beneath the seat.
Almost hidden against the metal frame.
I reached inside.
My fingers touched a corner of folded paper.
It had been pushed into a narrow gap.
I pulled gently.
A small pink envelope slid free.
My heart began pounding.
On the front, written in a child's uneven handwriting, were four words.
FOR MR. ARTHUR ONLY.
I stared at it.
Then I turned it over.
The back was sealed with a tiny sticker shaped like a white rabbit.
Underneath, Maya had written something that made my hands shake.
PLEASE DON'T LET MARCUS FIND THIS.
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
Maya hadn't hidden the pills because she was afraid I'd discover them.
She'd hidden them because she was trying to make sure somebody did.
